


The Darkness Within

by StrawberryLane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gellert Grindelwald Being Creepy, Gellert Grindelwald Being an Asshole, Grindelwald bought Credence from Mary Lou, M/M, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Not Canon Compliant, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Workaholic Original Percival Graves, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: After close to a week in the hospital, he'd finally been able to return home, to his own place that he hadn't actually seen in close to two months, because Grindelwald had held him captive in a basement somewhere in Brooklyn – Graves doesn't quite know where, nor does he have any desire to find out. He hates that basement more than anything else in the world.The point is, he'd returned home after being forced to stay in the hospital for almost seven days, cautious of any nasty surprise Grindelwald might have left behind at his arrest.He really hadn't been expecting to be met by a dark haired, naked boy half his age lounging in his bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [this](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1777824#cmt1777824) prompt from the kinkmeme, though I appear to have focused more on feelings and angst than smuttiness.
> 
> [This](https://img0.etsystatic.com/115/0/6216159/il_fullxfull.992509948_dj0e.jpg) is the choker/collar Credence is wearing, but with a deathly hallows symbol instead of the pentacle (the star). 
> 
> I'll be honest, I'm not happy with this fic. I feel like I'm not even close to doing the prompt justice, but I'm posting it anyway, for reasons. Also, this is unbetaed, like all of my other work also is, but I'm so sleepy and I have no patience left for this fic at the moment, so if you spot anything that looks weird and out of place or simply doesn't make sense, please let me know. 
> 
> Please excuse the cringey attempt at smut.

Of all the things Graves suspected Grindelwald might have left behind as a surprise, this one certainly hadn't even crossed Graves' mind.

After close to a week in the hospital, he'd finally been able to return home, to his own place that he hadn't actually seen in close to two months, because Grindelwald had held him captive in a basement somewhere in Brooklyn – Graves doesn't quite know where, nor does he have any desire to find out. He hates that basement more than anything else in the world.

The point is, he'd returned home after being forced to stay in the hospital for almost seven days, cautious of any nasty surprise Grindelwald might have left behind at his arrest.

He really hadn't been expecting to be met by a dark haired, _naked_ boy half his age lounging in his bed.

And the nakedness isn't even the weirdest part, no, it's the black velvet ribbon choker, with a silver chain and a dangling deathly hallows symbol attached, that's standing out, literally, against the paleness of the boy's neck.

"Um..." Graves says, because he thought he'd be prepared for just about anything, but Grindelwald spending Graves' money to employ the services of rent boys just hadn't been included in the 'anything' statement.

The boy, because by Mercy Lewis, that's what he is, blinks slowly at him, like a cat. "Welcome home, master," he murmurs and that's just so much worse, Graves thinks. _Master._

"How much do I owe you?" Graves asks, still standing frozen in the doorway. The best way, he reasons, to get rid of this, possibly no-maj, boy is to pay him real good. He's already fumbling for the wallet Seraphina personally gave him back earlier during the day when he catches sight of the boy, now sitting up in his bed.

"Owe me?" the words come out in a whisper, like the thought of being paid never even occurred to the boy.

"Yes, for your services," Graves clarifies as a panicked look crosses the boy's mind for a brief second.

"Is master displeased with me?" the boy asks, his brow furrowing, "Because I'll do better-"

"I'm sure your services are more than satisfactory," Graves quickly placates him, throwing his hands up, as if trying to calm down a wild animal of some kind. "But... But I just don't feel up for this today," Graves continues, feeling pleased with his quick thinking.

"Oh," the boy breathes in, and before Graves can say anything, the boy has slithered off the bed, grabbed a brown belt with a metal buckle from the chair in the corner of the room, and is kneeling on the floor, holding the belt up towards Graves like an offering. Graves, without even thinking, because _what the fuck,_ accepts it, and the boy turns around on his knees, presenting his naked back to Graves.

His entire back is absolutely riddled with old, badly healed scars.

The boy flinches as the belt clatters to the ground behind him.

"You know what," Graves says, voice strained, "why don't we put an end to this right here? I'll just... I'll leave the money by the door so you can grab it when you leave, how about that?"

Leaving the naked, kneeling boy in the bedroom, Graves retreats to his study so quickly he he doesn't even register the fact that there is no sign of any clothes in the bedroom at all.

In his study, he collapses in his favorite squishy armchair, gulping down a bottle of fire whiskey as if his life depends on it. Right now, it kind of does.

His desk, he notes, is drowning in paperwork. It looks as if Grindelwald brought a lot of work home with him, if only to throw it on the desk and forget about it.

"I might as well," he mutters as he moves to get rid of the coat he's still wearing. It's not that he wants to go through the mountain of reports on his desk, he thinks, but he might as well get a head start while he waits for the boy in his bedroom to gather his stuff and leave.

The first three layers of paperwork are standard cases – a missing hippogriff, an accident at a thankfully empty restaurant being renovated downtown, thought to be caused by a dark magic force of some kind, a family of no-majes exposed to magic by their old, wizarding neighbor with memory problems (according to the report, the man thought he was preforming flower spells for his wife, when, in reality, it was the neighbors' eleven year old daughter).

The fourth layer gets a lot more interesting, but also a lot more horrifying. It's a receipt of some kind, Graves realizes, a contract being drawn up between some woman called Mary Lou Barebone and Graves himself. It's dated just over a month earlier, detailing the transaction of money, a sum of considerable size, from Percival Graves to the New Salem Philanthropic Society.

Why would Grindelwald give a huge sum of money to an anti-magic organization? Surely not out of the goodness of his heart, Graves thinks and scans the piece of paper more closely.

To his growing horror, he soon finds what he's looking for. It's in the fine print, one measly, ordinary sentence declaring that Grindelwald, as Graves, gave the New Salem Philanthropic Society money in exchange for the ownership of Mary Lou Barebone's son, Credence, age 21.

The boy in his bedroom, Graves realizes. He's not some random rent boy hired for the evening. No, he's Credence Barebone, a boy sold into what is basically slavery by his own mother.

Graves barely makes it to the window in time to throw it open before all of the whiskey he has consumed in the last hour makes it back up.

Drying his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, he stares down at his own vomit on the ground beneath him.

The contract is binding, unbreakable. Grindelwald masquerading as Graves, and now Graves himself, has ownership of the boy for life, can do whatever he pleases to the poor kid without being punished. He doesn't even have to fear being punished, because contracts like these are, shock and horror, still legal to this day and age.

He can do literally anything to the boy and as long as he can prove his ownership, no one will question him on it.

Just the thought is enough to make him heave again.

*

About an hour later, when the sun has long since gone down, Graves quietly emerges from his study, only to barge right into a kneeling Credence.

The boy is still stark naked and clearly trying to keep from shivering, his skin in goosebumps from the cool air of the house.

"You're still here," Graves states unnecessarily as he looks down, avoiding to look at anything but the top of the boy's head.

"I... I can't leave," Credence whispers. "I... Master, I tried, because you ordered me to-" the boy abruptly cuts himself off, bowing his head even lower than before. Graves lets his gaze roam over the young man before him. Of fucking course he can't leave, Graves realizes when he sees the red, angry burns on the palms of Credence's hands, cradled in his lap.

"The doorknobs burn you when you touch them, don't they?"

Credence nods, jerkily. "And the windows," he adds, in a whisper so quiet Graves has to strain to hear it.

_Fucking hell._

"A cup of tea, how about that? Tea makes everything better," Graves mumbles, more to himself than Credence, but the boy seems to take it as an order, gracefully getting to his feet to follow Graves into the kitchen. He's still hunching his shoulders and bowing his head, making sure he appears shorter than Graves, but at least Grindelwald doesn't seem to have wanted the boy to crawl everywhere. Thank Mercy Lewis for small mercies, Graves thinks.

He's not sure he could have handled having the boy crawling behind him, on top of everything else.

His relief is short lived, however, because once they get to the kitchen, Credence sinks to his knees next to one of the chairs at the table. While waiting for the kettle to boil, feeling more than a little foolish, a thought suddenly occurs to Graves. He walks up to Credence and the boy lifts his head to stare up at him.

"Give me your hands," Graves tells him and once Credence's done as he's asked, Graves quickly moves his own hand over Credence's, murmuring a healing spell under his breath. As the burns and the pain disappear from the boy's hands Graves watches Credence's face. It doesn't change, except for a quick look of relief when the pain goes away. Not unfamiliar with magic, then. No surprise really, considering how big of an ego Grindelwald has and how much he likes showing off, but still.

The shrill whistle that announces that the kettle is ready sounds through the room, making Graves flinch at the sudden noise. He quickly crosses the room, taking the kettle of the stove and adding the hot water and tea leaves to two mugs.

"Here you go," he says as he passes one of the mugs to Credence, who takes it with shaking hands.

"Thank you, master," he murmurs, moving the mug closer to his face to take a sip of the scalding liquid.

They move into the living room, Graves lighting a fire in the fireplace and eventually persuading Credence into moving from his position on the floor next to Graves' chair to a chair of his own. Graves watches as the boy gingerly sits down on the couch, bracing himself. Graves is pleased with his success for a whole five seconds until he realizes that perhaps there is a reason as to why Credence looks so scared and uncomfortable. Grindelwald probably never let the kid sit on the couch and here comes Graves and the first thing he suggests is trying something new. Good going, there, Percival.

"You know what? I've changed my mind," Graves says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice sounds somewhat hysterical, even to his own ears. "The floor is perfectly fine. Here, have a blanket," he babbles, more or less throwing the blanket next to him to Credence. "You shouldn't have to freeze, just because I haven't found you any clothes yet."

Credence dutifully sinks to the floor and wraps the blanket around himself, still with a slightly worried look on his face.

They drink their tea in silence, until Graves sees a way out, at least for the night, and announces that he's going to bed.

Sleeping is what he needs right now. As soon as he rises from his chair, Credence is up, collecting their mugs and taking them both to the kitchen. Graves uses the moment of being left alone in the living room to cast a spell to make sure the fire stays burning the whole night before retiring to the bathroom.

He doesn't hear the sound of the bedroom door opening while he's brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom, but when he goes back into his bedroom, intent on sleeping like the dead for about eight hours, he finds an unexpected sight.

Credence, curled up at the end of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Graves asks, like it's not obvious. Grindelwald has obviously been using the boy for his own pleasure, that much was clear from the get go, but still? Making the boy sleep at the end of the bed, like a dog?

"I always do this, master," Credence stammers, confusion spreading across his face. Moving his gaze away from the boy for a moment, Graves makes a decision.

"I think it's time for a change, don't you? How about you sleep in the guest room from now on?"

Credence makes a noise in his throat at that, hands fisted into the blanket he still has wrapped around him.

Graves decides that the noise means the boy agrees.

"Come on," he says, exiting his own bedroom and walking down the hall to the mostly unused, very sparsely furnished, guest bedroom. From the looks of it, it remained unused during the two months Graves spent in captivity.

Banishing the fine layer of dust that coats every available surface, Graves motions for Credence to actually enter the room – the boy had been hovering by the doorway, as if unsure of his own welcome – and clears his throat.

"This will be your room, and your bed, from now on. This is where you will be spending the night, sleeping, unless I tell you otherwise," Graves leaves the _which I won't_ unsaid. "Understand? In the bed."

"Yes, master," Credence mumbles, looking around the room. His confusion from before seems to have been replaced with something Graves can't quite put his finger on. Apprehension, perhaps.

Graves, too tired to even try to figure out why, just shakes his head. "Goodnight, Credence," he tells the boy as he closes the door to the guestroom, before making his way back to his own bed.

*

The first thing Graves does when he wakes up the next morning is to check the wards. Credence is in the kitchen, they tell him, but the boy did spend the entire night in the guest bed, so Graves counts that as a win.

He spends a while looking through his closet, both to throw out anything he thinks there's a chance Grindelwald might have put on and to look for Credence's clothes. He must have clothes, must he not? Or does he really spend the entire day and night without a shred of fabric, save for that horrendous choker Grindelwald outfitted him with, on his body?

After getting dressed in clothes he's reasonably sure he won't have to burn later on, Graves marches down the hall towards the kitchen armed with a bundle of old shirts and trousers that should fit the gangly young man he now has living with him.

Credence, awkwardly trying to keep the blanket around his waist from slipping down whilst cooking eggs and bacon, kneels on the floor the minute he becomes aware of Graves' presence in the room. "Master," he murmurs, bowing his head. Graves clears his throat, feeling uncomfortable at the submissiveness the boy is expressing.

"It's all right," he says, holding out the bundle of clothes towards the boy. "Here, put these on, will you?"

Credence awkwardly accepts the bundle from Graves, before standing up to change into the clothes. Graves turns around, wanting to give the boy at least a semblance of privacy, before he realizes that it won't matter, because he's already seen everything there is to see.

Not even five minutes later, Credence is dressed and the blanket is impeccably folded, back in the living room. A plate of steaming eggs and bacon are waiting on the table for Graves to tuck into and Credence is, once again, kneeling next to Graves' chair.

Graves is about to tell the boy to get up and get his own breakfast, when he realizes something. There's only one plate. Credence only made enough food for one.

"Aren't you going to eat too?" Graves asks, taking a seat. The food smells divine and his stomach makes an audible noise in the quiet room.

"When you're done," comes the whisper from beneath him, the words laced with confusion.

Oh.

_Oh._

Feeling uncomfortable, Graves tucks into his food, shoveling it into his mouth as fast as he can, not caring that he burns his tongue. He doesn't even taste it, just mechanically chews and swallows it down.

He makes sure to leave well over half of the portion Credence dished out for him on the plate.

"Here you go," he says as he rises from his seat, motioning for Credence to take his place. The boy scrambles into the chair, wolfing down the remaining eggs and pieces of bacon as fast as he can, as if he's afraid someone's going to take the plate away from him before he's done.

The minute he's done, he slides off the chair and down onto the floor once again, and before Graves has gathered enough information to understand what the hell is happening, Credence is well on his way to open Graves' trousers, his mouth just inches away from Graves' crotch.

"No!" Graves can't help it, the shout is out before he can stop it and he's batting Credence away before he realizes what he's doing. Shocked, he stares down at the boy cowering at his feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Master, I'm sorry... please, sir, please don't..."

"I...It's fine. Just don't do it again, would you? And make enough food for two people next time," Graves, suddenly feeling an intense desire to just lie down and not move for several hours, stalks out of the room, leaving Credence sprawling on the floor.

  


*

Credence's master is behaving... odd, to say the least. Since his return the day before, he has turned down every one of Credence's attempts to please him. Credence, who's become accustomed to being used first thing in the morning to help relieve his master of the erection the man often wakes up sporting, has instead being given a bed of his own and, to his great horror, actual clothes.

Credence hasn't worn clothes for weeks, because when he was bought, Mr Graves told him that he now existed solely to please the other man's urges and therefore wouldn't need clothes. Mr Graves wants him to be easily accessible at all times, ready to take his master's cock without any irritating, difficult clothes being in the way.

And now, after being gone for close to a week, the man has made his return and seems to have changed his mind about just about every routine he so very carefully trained Credence to learn.

It's all very confusing, Credence thinks as he washes up the lone plate and the one set of cutlery from breakfast. Mr Graves even turned down Credence's attempt at saying thank you for the breakfast the way he's been taught. And Mr Graves usually loves to put his dick down Credence's throat, even when it's limp. In fact, it's one of the man's favorite things to do, just beckoning Credence over and tell him to hold it in his mouth, to keep it warm, for hours on end. If Credence does a good enough job of it, Mr Graves usually rewards him by grabbing his head and fucking his throat, filling Credence's belly with cum.

It's something Credence has come to expect, really. His daily routine – which up until this point has consisted of being of use to Mr Graves, whenever the man decides he wants it, and cleaning and generally keeping out of the way when the man doesn't want to see him – has turned decidedly lopsided.

Drying the plate and the cutlery, Credence carefully places them back in their respective cupboards, before going back to his new room. Something tells him Mr Graves would react badly to being disturb right this moment.

*

Graves does what he usually does when things get though – he throws himself into his work. Flooing the office to get a quick status update on how much work Grindelwald actually got done – about zero, in reality – makes it easy for him to shut himself in his office for just about the whole day. He goes through the reports left on his desk, pouring over them meticulously, making notes in the margins, things to go over with his aurors once he gets back into his office for real. By lunch time, he has possible theories on most of the cases Grindelwald took on while masquerading as Graves, and definite solutions to at least a handful of problems. He never thought he would feel so happy that Grindelwald ignored the job so thoroughly.

A timid knock brings Graves back into reality. A quick glance towards the clock on the desk tells him that it's just about time for lunch.

"Enter," he grits out, not wanting to actually see the boy on the other side. Breakfast had been a traumatizing affair, and Graves has no desire to repeat the experience. The door swings open to reveal Credence, not kneeling, as Graves would have thought, but instead standing with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. He's holding a tray, laden with a teapot, a cup, a plate of sandwiches, – four different kinds, the boy's been hard at work, it seems – and a bowl of strawberries.

Graves _loves_ strawberries.

"Put it on the desk," he says, voice rough. After a beat, he mumbles a thank you as the boy does what he's told. Credence hovers in the doorway for a minute, a look on his face that Graves can't quite figure out what it means. Like he thinks Graves is behaving... weirdly. Which wouldn't be too much of a stretch, considering how different Graves must be (he desperately hopes) from Gellert Grindelwald.

"Nothing else is needed, thank you," Graves tells Credence when it becomes clear that the boy won't actually leave if not outright told to do so. After a jerky, unpracticed bow, the door closes behind the black haired boy.

After eating his meal – and finding out the he really likes cucumber sandwiches – Graves returns to his task with newfound energy.

The mountain of papers on his desk grows smaller and smaller as the day goes on.

*

Mr Graves is avoiding him. Mr Graves doesn't want him any more. Mr Graves has grown tired of him. Mr Graves has given him clothes. Mr Graves spoke of removing the collar around Credence's neck.

Dinner had been a disaster, just like breakfast. After a relatively successful lunch – the man hadn't taken offense in Credence adding a bowl of strawberries to his standard lunch of choice – Credence spent his time cleaning, even though there's not a lot to actually clean, Mr Graves is something of a neat freak. But still, there's always something that can be dusted off and put away. Not being able to use Mr Graves as a distraction, he had to find something else to occupy his time and he's not allowed to touch the books.

He wants to avoid sleeping, because sleeping brings nightmares and Mr Graves telling him he's a squib, that he's only good for one thing, for being used as a whore by superior men. Sleep brings Mr Graves handing money over to Ma, in exchange for Credence. Sleep brings the memories of leaving the girls behind. Sleeping makes him scared and angry. And anger brings out the darkness.

Credence has complicated feelings about the darkness inside of him. It's what Mr Graves' been looking for, the reason why he's in Credence's life at all, Credence is pretty sure of it. But Mr Graves had been looking for a child, which Credence is not. Mr Graves thinks Credence failed to find the child. Credence intends to keep it that way. Something tells him it's safer.

Credence had thought Mr Graves would be his ticket to freedom, his ticket away from a life with Mary Lou. As it turns out, it was just a ticket into a different kind of hell. At the same time, though, he doesn't want to leave, or go back to how it was before. Because while Mr Graves may not be the nicest man in the world, he gives Credence at least one hot meal a day and he doesn't beat him unless Credence really deserves it.

All in all, it's a much better option than being on the streets, and Credence will be damned if he doesn't find a way to make himself useful, now that Mr Graves has seemingly lost interest in the pleasures Credence's body can provide.

*

At dinner, Graves has to face Credence once again. He had successfully avoided the boy by staying locked in his office all day long, but now, as the darkness of the evening settles down all around him, he's forced to emerge, on the hunt for edible food.

He finds the boy already in the kitchen, slaving away over the stove. _Slaving away,_ Graves thinks, grimacing to himself. What a poor choice of words. Credence is cooking like a no-maj, slowly, but then Graves found some of Grindelwald's hastily scribbled down letters that the man hadn't been able to send before being captured, and one of them mentions, ever so casually, that Grindelwald's found himself a " _...lover. He's a squib, but that does not mean he does not possess extraordinary talents, if you catch my drift."_

Graves had felt a little sick in his mouth at that.

When he enters the kitchen, Credence looks up from his work, hastily putting down the knife he's holding. Before he can drop to his knees, though, Graves holds up a hand to stop him. "You don't need to kneel, not anymore, not ever."

Credence, already bending his knees, looks confused. A stuttering "Yes, master," escapes his lips, and he returns to his chore of chopping tomatoes. It's quiet in the kitchen, the only source of noise being the sound of the knife against the chopping board, and Graves' mouth makes the decision to start talking without consulting his brain first.

"I've been thinking. You've been here for how long now, a month? That's a long time, isn't it? An entire month. Anyway, I think it's time we make some changes around here, don't you? Like that choker of yours, it's-"

The knife falls to the ground with a clatter, missing Credence's right foot by an inch. "Don't... Please, please don't take it off."

"Now, now, Credence-" Graves begins, and the boy bows his head, a mortified look on his face, even though he doesn't seem to be entirely there, like he's trapped in his own head. Their dinner is burning on the stove, the skillet behind the boy is literally smoking, tiny little tendrils of black smoke.

Credence visibly jerks back into himself, back into the kitchen of Graves' brownstone that he's owned for the last ten years. A high, keening noise escapes the boy's throat and, in a scene eerily reminiscent of the scene at breakfast, falls to his knees and begins crawling towards Graves.

This time, though, he doesn't make any attempt at removing Graves' pants. Instead, he presses his face against Graves' leg, mumbling "please" and "don't". The grip he has on Graves' leg is almost painful and Graves can feel the boy's hot tears soak into the fabric of his pants.

"All right," he mutters, awkwardly, "I won't remove it." Graves awkwardly pats the boy on the head, a quick, shaky touch that actually seems to calm the boy down. After a minute the quiet crying stops, and the boy moves his face away from Graves' leg. His face is red and blotchy, but he quickly collects himself, returning back to the stove, almost as if nothing happened.

Dinner, an actually completely not burnt stew of meat, tomatoes, carrots and potatoes, is eating quickly, silently, this time with Credence sitting across from Graves instead of kneeling on the ground next to his chair. Even though the rest of the dinner had been a disaster, Graves sees this as a success.

*

Early the next day, before Credence has had a chance to get up and get started on breakfast, Graves scribbles a hasty note that he leaves on the boy's bedroom door, quietly slipping out of the house.

His whole department stares at him when he enters the Woolworth building, and he catches snippets of whispered words like "break," "rest," "hospital" and so on as he marches through the corridors towards his office.

Seraphina Picquery quietly slips into his office not even half an hour later. "I thought we agreed you would take at least a week's worth of vacation, Percival?"

Graves grunts in answer, already neck deep in the work Grindelwald neglected to do. "Didn't feel like staying home. The man lived in my house, Seraphina," he says and it's not a lie. Grindelwald lived in his house, ate his food, slept in his bed. Had non consensual sex with a boy half Graves' age in Graves' bed, repeatedly, if the boy's behavior is to be believed.

Graves feels a burning desire to set the bed on fire. Why not the whole house, for good measure?

"Percival..." Seraphina scolds, but there's no heat in it. She's not really mad, the only thing coloring her voice is pity and Graves kind of wants to hex her. But he can't, because she's the president and he needs to keep his job, because he has to take care of the neglected mess of work that Grindelwald left behind.

"I know," he says, instead. "I just. I couldn't stay there. I'll take it easy, I promise."

They both know he won't, but Seraphina doesn't call him on it. Instead, she slips out of his office just as quietly as she entered, and the wards fall shut behind her.

Making quick work of the easier cases and archiving the already closed case files, Graves has a relatively good overview over which cases he should focus his attention on, which ones needs to be solved first. There's only about ten different ones that can be classified as 'critical' and while it will cause Graves to lose a bit of sleep, he's had much worse. Back in the years between 1914 and 1918 for example. Those years had been hell on his carefully structured routines.

He's been working efficiently for perhaps three hours when his door bursts open to reveal Abernathy, out of breath and clearly in a hurry.

"Yes?" Graves asks the man, wishing he hadn't forgotten his glasses at home so that he could look over the edge of them at Abernathy, who's holding up a hand and trying to catch his breath.

"There's been another attack, sir. Just thought you should know," he says, clearly expecting a specific kind of reaction from Graves.

"Attack? What kind of attack?" Graves inquires instead, because, he has literally not stepped foot in this place for over two months and has no clue what cases his department is currently working on.

"The magical force, sir," Abernathy explains. "The one that cause havoc in downtown the night we arrested Grindelwald."

"I read a report about a magical force of some kind that destroyed a restaurant a couple of weeks ago. Would these two be the same?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah. So where has this... force... attacked now?"

"An abandoned building down by the docks, sir. Thankfully, there were no no-majes in the vicinity."

"Good. You know what, I haven't had a chance to just wander around the city yet. I might pop out to take a look at this building," Graves tells the younger auror, who bows. It's a smooth and elegant bow, clearly tried out in front of a mirror, unlike Credence, whose bows are sloppy and out of necessity, and not because he wants to honor the person in front of him.

"Yes sir," Abernathy tells Graves one last time, before closing the door, leaving Graves in blessed silence.

*

Controlling the darkness inside of him is getting more difficult each day. Credence knows he's lost control over it a few times, but he has a hard time actually remembering what happened during those times. Once, he knows, he ended up in the middle of Times Square, and another in a back alley a couple of blocks away from Ma's chapel. Since living with Mr Graves, he's only lost control once or twice, both times after the man beat him for sticking his nose in places it didn't belong. The last time was just a week ago, when Mr Graves had come home early, already fuming about the incompetence of people in general. Credence, who had believed Mr Graves would stay out late, as he has a tendency to do, had gone into the forbidden room, Mr Graves' office, just to check it out. Mr Graves, had, of course, found him sitting in the plush leather chair, running his hands over the books in the bookshelf. The books with moving pictures. Credence hadn't been causing any harm, just wanted to satisfy his curiosity for a moment, but Mr Graves hadn't listened to his explanations, to his begging, to his sobbing for forgiveness. No, Mr Graves had dragged him to the master bedroom by his hair, had left him in an ugly heap of tears and snot on the floor while fetching Credence's belt from deep inside the closet.

"I wish you wouldn't make me do this, my dear boy," Mr Graves had sighed, standing behind Credence. "But I did specifically tell you not to enter my office, didn't I? And I know you're more than familiar with what happens when you break the rules, so really, you've got no one to blame but yourself," Mr Graves had told him and proceeded to let the belt lash down onto Credence's unprotected back for what felt like an eternity. Mr Graves hit harder than Ma, and he used the metal buckle as well.

Once he finally stopped, Credence's back was a bloody mess. Mr Graves had dropped Credence's belt next to Credence's head, sinking down onto the bed instead, unbuckling his own belt. "Come here," he had told Credence as he motioned for Credence to crawl into the space between his spread legs. "I don't have time to use your hole, so your mouth will have to do. You owe me thank you, darling. The punishment could've been so much worse. Now come here."

Credence had, despite the agonizing pain in his back, made his way into the space between the man's legs and obediently opened his mouth. Mr Graves had, hard dick already in hand, groaned loudly as he fed his member into Credence's mouth, instructing Credence not to use his hands. Credence had relaxed his throat as best he could, because Mr Graves liked to hold onto Credence's head and force his dick so deep down that Credence's nose touched the man's pubes as a result.

All he could do was sit there, his hands trapped underneath his legs, and just take the brutal pace that followed, trying not to cry as the feeling of being unable to breath creeped up on him.

He hadn't been entirely able to keep his tears from streaming down his face. At the sight of them, Mr Graves had put one hand on the back of Credence head, pressing him forward even more, and the other around Credence's throat, so that the pendant on Credence's collar was digging into his skin. With one last snap of his hips, the man had orgasmed, his semen making it's way down Credence's throat and into his stomach. "There, there," Mr Graves had cooed whilst putting his dick back into his underwear, "that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"Now, I have important business to attend to, but I want to continue this when I get back. So make sure you're on your best behavior and clean yourself up. I want to fuck you once I get back, and I don't want any blood on these sheets, you understand?"

At Credence's hoarse whisper of "Yes, master," Mr Graves had nodded, satisfied. Halfway out the door, he had turned back around, eyes gleaming. "See you later, my dear boy. I can't wait to hear your sweet cries, my beautiful little whore."

With those parting words, the man had swished out of the door, into the night.

Credence had, still sobbing, managed to make his way into the ensuit bathroom, and had barley felt himself dissolve into the darkness right there on the cold, tiled bathroom floor. He's just been so angry.

When he came back to himself, Credence had hastily gotten himself into the bath, hissing at the way the open wounds on his back burned at the contact with the hot water, anxious to be ready in time for Mr Graves to arrive back home.

He needn't have hurried. It took over a week before the man returned. And when he did, he had seemingly forgotten just about all of rules and instructions he'd ever given Credence.

This time though, he loses control because he wakes up to an empty house and a note attached to his door. It informs him that Mr Graves has gone to work and that Credence is to make, and eat, breakfast for only one person; himself. Same goes for lunch and dinner. It's not the empty house in itself that does it, not really. It's the feeling of despair, the feeling of feeling so entirely unwanted, of Mr Graves changing his mind so suddenly, of being given actual clothes and being rejected. It's because of the fear of being pushed away, of not having this twisted sense of security any longer.

He's halfway through making toast for himself when the darkness boils over, dragging him under.

*

Why would Grindelwald purchase Credence in the first place, is the question Graves mulls over while he strolls down the street at an unhurried pace. The abandoned building down by the docks is already swarmed by no-majes, cops, journalists and curious passerbys huddling together against the cold December wind. Graves slips into the crowd, listening to the cop standing in the middle telling everyone that it was an old building, it's no surprise it collapsed, really.

"But I'm telling you, I saw something!" a young girl, clawing against her mother's grip on her arm, is shrieking. It's clear no one really has any patience to listen to her, her mother least of all. "It was a cloud! A big black one! And it went into this house and it just exploded!"

"Shirley," her mother tells her as the police officer smiles indulgently at her. "Of course," he tells the girl. We'll have someone look into it."

It's a clear dismissal if Graves has ever heard one, but the girl's confession spiked his curiosity. Whatever it was that destroyed the building, it's quite possibly a force of magic. Dark magic. He hangs around, eager to check out the empty, crumbled building on his own once everyone else has lost interested.

In the meantime, he returns to his own little private case, the one with Grindelwald and Credence. Had Grindelwald purchased Credence because he wanted a toy? Someone to take his anger out on? Because he'd been feeling lonely? Simply because he is a sick fucker who enjoys destroying other people's lives? And why had he chosen Credence of all people? Why not just make a deal with a rent boy?

Why actively seek out and buy the son of a woman well known for her leadership within an anti-magic organization?

Except, Graves realizes, perhaps that is the entire point of it? Exposing Credence to magic and abuse for months and then setting him free, making sure he runs back home to mummy dearest and tells her everything?

It's an efficient way of going about things, really. Grindelwald wants to expose wizardkind. What better way to do so than abuse and manipulate a no-maj? The no-maj community will certainly go to war once they realize that magic really is among them and that one of their own, so to speak, got hurt so horrendously because of it and then Grindelwald will be satisfied.

*

Graves returns home shortly after checking out the destroyed building by the docks. The house is quiet and the heavenly smell of roast pigeon is filling every room. One set of cutlery, a glass and a plate are laid out on the table and the roasted pigeon are being kept warm inside the oven, waiting for Graves' return.

A quick look around the house confirms that Credence is, in fact, very much still there. He's in his new room, sleeping. It doesn't look peaceful though, because the boy keeps tossing and turning. Not wanting to intrude, because the boy has had precious little in the way of privacy and choice since living in this house, Graves leaves him to it, instead returning to the kitchen, tucking into his food. After dinner, he drinks half a bottle of fire whiskey and falls asleep in his office chair.

*

Four weeks go by, with Graves pretending he's not actively avoiding his unwanted houseguest. He knows he's going to have to deal with it some time in the future, but the future is so far away.

Besides, he needs to focus on work. The random attacks by the dark magical force have steadily increased since Graves got back to work. Now, they're almost daily and MACUSA have been using all the manpower they can possibly spare to try to figure out what, exactly, it could be. The theories are all over the place, ranging from strange to utterly bizarre. Someone actually submitted the idea that it could an oversized duck.

Sometimes Graves wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to come back into work.

Grindelwald's trial is just around the corner, as well, and Graves has been preparing as best as he can. He's supposed to tell his side of the story, how he got attacked and kidnapped one night in early October and imprisoned and tortured for over two months afterward. How Grindelwald used polyjuice potion to transform himself into Graves, how he infiltrated MACUSA's deepest archives while pretending to be Graves.

MACUSA is still not entirely sure what exactly Grindelwald was doing in New York in the first place, or why he chose to impersonate Graves. Seraphina thinks he might have be after American State secrets, but somehow Graves doubts it. No, he has this unsettling feeling deep down in his stomach that Grindelwald and the mystery force wrecking havoc in the city of New York are connected somehow. He just hasn't figured out how.

*

The court room is large, well lit with bright, harsh lights and so full of people that it makes Graves' chest tighten. He fights the feelings of uneasiness that tries to claw their way out through his ribcage and makes his way to his assigned seats.

His morning has not been good. Credence, still cautious and confused around Graves, had tentatively offered up his own body as stress relief, something that had, for a mere, horrible second, not actually sounded all that bad an option to Graves. Then he had quickly regained his senses and told the boy no. Offering sex because he thought it was expected of him isn't Credence consenting, it's literally him offering up his body to protect himself from punishments he might receive if he doesn't offer to get Graves off at all.

Graves doesn't put it past Grindelwald to have punished the boy for misreading the signs before at all. Especially not with the way Credence had ended up cowering at Graves' feet right next to the front door.

Credence has been looking more and more sad and upset these last few weeks, Graves has noticed, even if he tries to keep out of the boy's way. Credence's been acting increasingly desperate, even going as far as crawling into Graves' bed on his own initiative, waiting in bed for him, just like he'd been doing when Graves first returned to his own home.

The second time though, Graves had walked into his bedroom, intent on getting out of his suit and swallow half a bottle of just about any kind of alcoholic beverage before dinner and found the boy kneeling on the bed, just as naked as the first time they'd met, face pressed against the pillows and ass high in the air, with something that looked suspiciously like a plug peeking out from between the boy's cheeks. If he'd wanted to fuck the boy, all Graves would have needed to do was remove the plug and slide right home.

As it was, his rejection of Credence scarred everyone involved. It really hadn't helped Graves discomfort and guilt when Credence, evidently after a thorough bath, had tried again. And again.

It had been quite heartbreaking to watch the desperation in Credence increase the more Graves rejected him.

At the increased level of hushed noise around him, Graves looks up. The lights in the court room seems to glare even brighter than before and Graves starts to sweat.

Gellert Grindelwald is being led into the room, surrounded by four aurors that have their wands aimed and ready to blast Grindelwald to hell and back if the man even wriggles a toe wrong. Grindelwald, wrapped up like nasty gift in chains, catches sight of Graves across the room and smiles a smile that sends shivers down Graves' back.

The trial begins, but Graves can only hear half of it. His head is buzzing, white noise surrounding him. Grindelwald keeps seeking him out in the audience, staring at him with a bemused smile, arching his eyebrows at him, like they're communicating in a language no one else understands. Like they've got something they are they only ones to know about. It's not untrue, Graves thinks. He has told no one about Credence and since no one's come looking, he's reasonably sure Grindelwald hasn't either.

Everything goes relatively well up until it's Graves turn to actually tell his side of the story. Once he's finished and has answered the lawyer’s and the judge's questions, Grindelwald leans forward, eyes gleaming like they're long lost friends and not a kidnapper and his kidnapee, grinning.

"Enjoying my gift are you, Percival?"

The words seem extremely loud in the sudden silence of the room.

"Credence's very talented, don't you agree? If you haven't, try tying him to the bed and blindfolding him and fuck him until he passes out. He absolutely loves that. He couldn't keep his hands off me after that. Absolutely gagging for it, the little whore."

" _Shut up!_ " the furious roar tears itself from Graves before he has a chance to stop it and Grindelwald laughs. It's a grating, thin sound.

"You should thank him, you know, because he's the only reason MACUSA caught me and found you," Grindelwald sounds casual, almost bored, but Graves gets the distinct feeling that he's about to get some important information.

"It was right in front of my eyes the entire time and I didn't see it. How I could possibly think he... What a fool I was," Grindelwald is saying, mostly to himself.

Seraphina has recovered from her shock at last, just in time for the rest of the room to explode in hushed whispers. What on earth is the madman speaking of? Graves catches sight of Seraphina out of the corner of his eye. He's going to be paying for keeping information from her, he knows. With a wave of her hand Seraphina orders for Grindelwald to be taken away; the trial will continue at a later date, once Graves has told her everything. Grindelwald is still laughing as he's led away, turning back one last time to tell Graves one more thing:

"Don't let that meek, submissive attitude fool you, Percival. Underestimating him almost cost me my life."

*

Graves spends a lot of time reading the fine print of the reports written after Grindelwald's arrest. He combs through them with intense care, over and over again.

Grindelwald had been arrested and unmasked because Tina Goldstein had gotten suspicious about the man's eccentric behavior. She was one of the few that did get suspicious and thought maybe, just maybe, this isn't the actual Percival Graves. Even so, it had taken her almost two months, but Graves pretends he's not as hurt by this as he actually am. At least she realized Grindelwald was an imposter at all, unlike, for example, Abernathy.

When MACUSA's aurors finally had found Grindelwald, he'd been causing chaos downtown, chasing after a big black cloud of smoke and fire, an obscurus. He'd been begging the thing for forgiveness, the report states, mumbling incoherently, sometimes in German, about how he was going to treat the obscurus better, how he owed it an apology. He had talked about how much of a miracle it was, for the obscurial to have survived for so long with the obscurus growing inside of them. According to eyewitnesses, the obscurus, wild with fury had attacked the man again and again, aiming to kill. Only Grindelwald's skill at wandless magic saved him, really.

When it finally hits him, Graves can't believe how stupid he's been. The magical force that's been causing property damage for the last couple of weeks, months even, way before Grindelwald even set foot in New York? That's the obscurus.

And who did Grindelwald keep returning to during the trial? Credence Barebone, the boy currently belonging to Percival Graves. Grindelwald had talked about underestimating the boy and at first, Graves had thought he meant thinking the boy was a squib. Graves has not seen the boy do any magic, so he can't judge the boy's magical heritage for himself, but then again he's been avoiding him the best he can. To be honest, Graves has been thinking Credence is a no-maj.

But now that the thought has struck him, it's not an impossible thought at all that Credence Barebone is the obscurial. Graves has done research on the boy, even before this. He needed to know who he was living together with. Credence's parentage is unknown, but he was left at an orphanage soon after his supposed month of birth. Mary Lou Barebone, a religious fanatic who actually lived in a goddamn church, had adopted the boy before his fifth birthday, raising him to believe in her drivel of nonsense. She had beat him, Graves knows, sometimes for something as trivial as coming home five minutes too late.

It's nowhere near impossible that Credence's magic, if he has any, turned inwards to protect itself from his mother's wrath.

The chime of the clock on the wall wakes him up from his stupor. For some reason, it's the chime of time passing that makes Graves completely sure. He has an obscurial on his hands. An increasingly desperate and upset obscurial, the longer Graves keeps rejecting him for behaving the way Grindelwald conditioned him to.

Graves needs to get home, right this instant.

*

Mr Graves presents him with flowers. Roses, to be exact. They're red, like the color of blood. To say that Credence is confused would be an understatement. Mr Graves brought home dinner, from an expensive restaurant Credence would never even have dreamed of tasting a bite from. Mr Graves, though, has splurged like the food is going out of style. Mr Graves is doting on him, Credence realizes, halfway through the meal. Making sure he's comfortable, that he's eating enough, that he has a taste of the amazing raspberry and lemon tart, so sweet it sticks to Credence's tongue. Mr Graves himself seems less comfortable though, eyes anxiously fixed on Credence all through dinner. But when Credence sinks to his knees on the floor once their plates are empty, the man doesn't protest, nor does he reject him, like he's done every time Credence's tried to please him for over a month now. With clumsy fingers, expecting to be shoved away at any second, Credence opens the man trousers and slowly, oh so very slowly, takes hold of the man's penis. Credence, still watching Graves' face for any signs the man has changed his mind, carefully puts his mouth on the older man. The weight and the taste are familiar ones, and Credence relaxes his throat as much as he can, sucking the man deeper and deeper.

"Fuck," he hears Mr Graves grunt out above him. A hand has found it's way into his hair, but it's not pulling or forcing his head in any direction at all, just resting on top of his head. It's nice.

When Mr Graves comes, Credence makes sure to swallow every drop. He's about to get out of the way, to get back to cleaning the dishes from dinner, when Mr Graves' hand finds its way underneath his chin and drags Credence's face upwards, until he's mouth to mouth with Mr Graves. Credence let's out an involuntary whimper when Mr Graves' kisses him, puts his own tongue into Credence's mouth, tasting himself on Credence's tongue.

It's something Mr Graves has never done before.

*

The guilt is, quite frankly, gnawing away at Graves' bones. He's filled with shame as he lies naked in his bed. Credence is sleeping at the end of the bed, like he used to do Grindelwald was the one he served. Graves didn't have the heart to kick the boy out of bed, especially not if Credence really is the obscurial, which remains to be seen.

After the dinner, Graves had brought Credence back to the master bedroom, where he'd ordered the boy to undress and lay down on the bed.

The pace at which Credence had done so had been almost scarily fast.

The act in itself had been... Well, it had been mind-blowing, if Graves' being honest. He's not someone who's exactly known for having lots of sexual relations, and Credence most likely had his first time with Grindelwald, so it could've gone either way, really.

It was only afterward that the guilt settled in, like a long lost friend who, after years of not being there, decides to visit without any warning.

Rolling over, Graves closes his eyes and tries to force himself to go to sleep.

*

Graves has a bit of a moral dilemma. He's become, he realizes with a jolt of disgust, slightly addicted to Credence's mouth. To Credence in general, is more like it. The boy has moved back into Graves' bedroom, but is sleeping beside him, bodies close together, instead of at his feet. It makes Graves feel a tiny bit better about the situation, like it's consensual instead of Credence being there because he literally has no other choice.

These days, Graves doesn't reject Credence when the boy tries to please him. Instead, he often winds up on the couch, with his dick in the boy's mouth or in his ass. It has, in fact, become routine to apparate home, get changed into slightly more comfortable clothes and settle down on the couch with a newspaper and pull his dick out and let Credence, kneeling on the floor, hold it in his mouth for as long as Graves wants him too. More often than not, he ends up ordering Credence to climb into his lap to ride him. The sight of the boy moving on top of him, eyes closed and mouth open, is intoxicating. The sounds the boy makes could probably bring Graves to an orgasm just by themselves.

The daily dose of something sexual, of serving Graves, whether it's by making dinner or by giving a blow job seems to settle Credence, to ground him, and he seems much less upset since Graves has started to accept his unwanted role as the master. Graves has kept an eye out for reports on new, magical disturbances, of new attacks made by the obscurus, but no such reports has made their way to his desk.

So in a way, he supposes it's a win win situation. Credence seems to be as happy with his role as can possibly be asked of him, and Graves, well, he would be lying if he said he was unhappy. Bending Credence over the kitchen table and sliding into that tight heat first thing in the morning, because the boy always keeps himself ready and open, is something that is never going to get old, he dares say.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! :-)


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